


Home

by Dynamitecoco_puff



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Addiction, Drug Addiction, Fluff, Light Angst, Red Lyrium, happy feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 14:28:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4141269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dynamitecoco_puff/pseuds/Dynamitecoco_puff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a long, tragic life, and his imprisonment in the Inquisition, Samson finally finds his home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for #samsonpositive weekend, but didn't get the chance to post it. So here it is now, enjoy.

Dezi was dizzy. She hated being the judge - the end all be all of the Inquisition. She felt as though she had no right to do this. She should have given this job to another. She stared at the man before her, on his knees looking at her feet. After minutes of silence she came to her decision.

“He will live out the rest of his sentence in indentured servitude in Skyhold. He will tend to the horses with Master Dennet, and perhaps he will join Dagna the rest of his time here.”

A few gasps and murmurs filled the hall, and Commander Cullen’s head snapped to her direction, his eyes narrowed trying to hide the anger, but the lion still seeped through.

Dezi stood, summoning up her confidence and whatever power she felt, and walked towards the haggard man still waiting on his knees. He slowly looked up from the ground to her face, the scowl still plastered on his face. But his eyes shown a hint of softness, maybe fear? Or sadness, for his lost friend. Something Dezi was very familiar of.

“I’m truly sorry about Maddox. He…we will have the funeral soon. I’ll allow you to attend,” she whispered, surveying his tired eyes. She opened her mouth to say something else, but changed her mind. It’d be best to leave it at that.

Samson nodded, his face still a hard impenetrable mask. Another pang of dizziness hit her when she looking into his eyes. The last time she tried to look at a Templar with such defiance he had her beaten until streams of red pooled her vision. She had taken plenty of Lyrium to numb the pain.

She practiced her breathing exercises, turning away from Samson.

“Take him to the prison. Use whichever cell isn’t damaged enough to hold him. Feed him when the sun sets.”

“Inquisitor I-”

She turned her attention towards the angry ex-templar marching in her direction. She cut him off from speaking any further.

“Take. Him.  _Away_ , Commander. If you have any issues with my decision perhaps you should have been the one to bear this fuckin’ mark,” he closed his mouth in a tight line, taking in the sight of the mark she unleashed upon her hand. His nostrils flared as he breathed, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“We will speak in your office later,” Dezi continued.

“Yes Inquisitor,” he nodded in the direction of his men, and they brought Samson to his feet, taking him to his cell.

Everyone was dismissed, but she made sure to squeeze Josephine’s hand in reassurance. The Ambassador gave her a sympathetic smile and returned to her office.

Dezi sighed when she sat back on her throne. The lit lanterns behind her illuminated Andraste’s face and the flames beneath her. The smoke of the incense below wafted upwards, thickening the air. Dezi waved the smoke from her face and pinched the bridge of her nose in order to combat the oncoming headache.

“Fuckin’  _Maker_ ,” she said to no one. Ever since she became the Inquisitor she questioned the Maker’s decision to set her on this path. She didn’t know what she was doing, and some of her actions had gotten people killed. He never gave her a direct answer when she tried to speak with Him.

She’d give him a visit. Just…a peek into who the hell this man was. Sure this man corrupted Templars and turned them into the very monsters they fought against, killed innocents, committed unspeakable war crimes. She groaned and rubbed her hands tiredly over her face and through her hair. She made the right decision.

Didn’t she?

* * * 

Samson sat in the excuse for a jail cell. It was only one of three that looked to be fully functional and that didn’t have a gaping hole in its side. The prison smelled of rotten wood and the sea. The only source of heat he had were his clothes and a torch perched outside on the nearest wall. He picked up pebbles scattered around his cell and tossed them between the bars, seeing how far he could throw, aiming for the rubble across from him. He tried to keep busy, anything to take his mind from what he…needed.

“Blight fucking take this shithole,” he threw a handful of pebbles at the wall and rested his head back against the one he leaned on.

“Inquisitor.”

He heard the voice of the guard say. He stood and stepped closer to the cell bars, trying to see the opening of the prison. He heard footsteps echoing on the wood, and soon came face-to-face with Dezi.

She glowered at him, and he looked into her light, raising an eyebrow as if noticing them for the first time. They were so unnatural. They were silver to his golden irises, comforted by the red haze of his addiction.

Dezi contained her shiver, and bit her lip not once looking away from his face. She cleared her throat, dared herself to step forward.

“Samson.”

“ _Inquisitor_.” He said, and sat back down against the wall.

“You…clean up nice,” she said. The guards bathed him, and gave him a fresh pair of trousers and a shirt. Though there still seemed to be permanent specks of dirt on his face.

He snorted in return, smirking as he picked up another pebble. She crossed her arms and watched him throw a pebble past her, it flew over the railing and down below into the sea below them.

“You should arc it more. You throw it like a spear. Throw it as if you were drawing a bow and arrow. The target is far, so you need to aim higher,  _arc_ the shot to make it past the rubble.”

She picked up a stray pebble on the edge of his cell, and drew back her arm to throw. She brought her arm forward and high, letting go of the pebble with her fingers at the last moment. She held her position, leaning into the throw, and the pebble pierced through hole.

“Bravo,” He chuckled, and sarcastically clapped his hands, “Now Inquisitor, you aren’t here to teach me the art of throwing stones, so what do you want?”

She turned back to him, and untied the strings to a small bag she wore around her waist. His throat immediately dried when he saw the flash of red within the small bottle she brandished.

Sweet, sweet red velvet. He breathed faster and his vision tunneled, focusing only on the Red Lyrium. She noted his reaction and thought of her time at the Circle. They gave her regular Lyrium, though sparingly. She was surprised how addicting it could be. She didn’t even want to imagine the intensity of this particular suffering. Nonetheless she knew that look all too well.

“How long has it been since you’ve had it?” She whispered.

He had forgotten she was there. His eyes snapped up towards her, and she blinked. He looked back at the bottle in her hand.

  
“It…it’s been days. Not since our battle,” he’d been drunk on the power of the red poison, and if they hadn’t found that rune for Dagna perhaps she’d be dead.

She slipped him the bottle, and gripped onto his hands before he could pull away. He frowned but didn’t fight her hold, her hands were calloused, more so than what a mage’s should be. This woman with the silver eyes and a grip of iron intrigued him, but he couldn’t understand her motives for something like this.

“ _What_ -”

“I suggest you sip it slowly. Savor the taste. We’re going to wean you off of this shit. But if you’re going to work here I need you in top shape. You’ll be useless if you’re in an ongoing state of withdrawals,” she let go of his hands and watched as he tore off the cork with haste and took a swig, “slowly! We don’t have much, and no one knows that i’m giving you this.”

Reluctantly he took the bottle from his lips and replaced the cork on top of the bottle. He closed his eyes with bliss, his mouth slightly ajar.

When he opened his eyes, she crouched down to his level, she was studying, he knew. Studying his reaction but he didn’t mind. She had kept him alive, and allowed him this small bit of pleasure.

“Why?” He asked.

She stood and looked outwards towards the sea, “I know what it’s like. This sort of addiction. It’s rough as shit just quitting outright. I’d also rather not stoop so low as my enemies or those i’ve had the pleasure of being with at the Circle. If i’m the Inquisitor, the  _Herald of Andraste_ , I need to do what I think is right. Even if those disapprove.”

He didn’t move while she talked nor did he want to interrupt her. He saw the confusion and resentment in her eyes and looked at the twitchings of her jaw bone.

She looked back to him, “You’re going to be alone. These people hate and fear you. But maybe I can change their minds…hell maybe we’ll become companions someday,” she rubbed the fuzz of one of the shaven sides of her head, “Please don’t make me regret this decision.”

She turned and walked away from his cell, having had enough with her speeches.

“Thank you.”

She barely heard it before reaching the entrance. She stopped and looked to her right, and gave a slight nod before ascending the stairs.

Samson clutched the bottle, afraid it were to disappear if he let it go. He looked at the bottle, swishing the substance in a small whirlpool. Maker he wanted to give in to the urge and drink it whole, wallow in the high it brought him. But he knew Dezi was right. He needed to be done with it…

_…but just another taste._

He shook his head, casting the thought away. He took the bottle, and hid it in a small hole in the corner of his cell, and covered the hole with rocks. He exhaled and nodded to himself, patting the stones.

He lay upon his sleeping mat, and thought of Desireé, the Mage Inquisitor with the unnatural light eyes. He shivered at the thought of their battle. The way she effortlessly summoned his dead soldiers against him, he came across a Necromancer before but not with such  _power_. His confinement - his stay here will be interesting. He also thought of Maddox, dead but possibly reunited with his love.

He stared at the ceiling, waiting for slumber to take him, and when a tear tickled his cheeks, he didn’t move to wipe it away.

* * * 

“If she even hums that song I will gladly put her head on a spike and sing a song about it,” Samson muttered after he downed the last of his ale.

Dezi and the Iron Bull chuckled and shook their heads, and Sera nodded in agreement, sloshing out a bit of ale from mug in order to wrap an arm around Samson. They both would love to teach the bard a lesson.

“Whoa calm down there Red, have another drink…on the Boss,” Iron Bull tossed his horns in the direction of Dezi. Her chuckle turned into a glare when she

Samson smirked and bowed his head mockingly, “Thank you, Lady Inquisitor.” Laughing at the way she sucked her teeth and snarled.

Those around Skyhold slowly warmed up to Samson, though of course some still cowered in fear or frowned when he strode across the fortress. His apprenticeship with Master Dennet was long finished, and he grew more comforted in the Undercroft with Dagna. But he still took the time when he had it, to brush the horses in the stables.

The Red Lyrium  still hazed his eyes, but nowadays they looked like more of a lack of sleep than from his addiction. He still sipped the poison occasionally, but they were far between. With the help of Madame de Fer, Dezi, and Cullen they eased him away, and never forced his hand. Dezi stayed up with him at nights, caressed his hair, and hummed him songs whenever he got the shakes; something she picked up from her mother.

They became friends, and even allies on the battlefield.

Samson swaggered out of the tavern, and leaned against the nearest wall to steady the world around him. He looked up at the moon, at the sky, and the stars. He giggled in his stupor and it turned into a bellow. He had not a care of the puzzled looks people gave him. He threw open his arms and took in a giant breath of air, and let it out slowly counting to ten in his mind.

He felt  _free_. Maker he could cry and scream from tops of mountains in the Hinterlands. It had been such a long time. He needn’t have to watch over his own back, he had comrades to aid him. Everyone still had their bumps and bruises with him, but he knew they would come around. But he was here and he was alive.

And finally, he was  _home_.


End file.
